Heartbeat
by PotatosGonnaPotate
Summary: Recovery. That's what Clara Pedrad was in, and had been ever since moving to Dauntless when she was twelve. Unintentionally, Eric Coulter was giving her something to recover for. Though of course, neither of them would admit it. Eric/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! Welcome to my new fic! So this will be Eric/OC and it is rated M mainly for dark themes and swearing...and maybe future Eric scenes? I don't know. You'll have to persuade me.**

 **This story takes place one year after Tris' initiation, so just clarifying that Clara is 16 and Eric is 19.**

 **So if you're reading this now, you'll probably have come from one of my other fics, 'Feels Like Flying' or 'Strong Emotions', but if not, check 'em out! I'm really excited for this fic and I don't think I've ever written a character in the way I've written Clara, so hopefully this all turns out good!**

 **IMPORTANT NOTICE: check out my bio for the instagram page for this fic! Give it a follow!**

 **Without further ado, here's chapter one!**

"Fucking _hell,"_ Uri rasps from where he is pinned under me, my knees either side of his chest and my forearm applying pressure to his windpipe.

I let out a breathy laugh, a few strands of hair that have come loose from my ponytail twirling in front of my face as I pant, grinning down at my brother. Despite his colourful outburst, Uri's eyes are full of mirth, a wolfish smile playing on his lips. Uriah may be a year older, and almost a foot taller, but it doesn't stop me from being able to beat him in a fight, and today is no different.

A shout from across the room has my head turning away from my brother, but it's only Zeke, watching us fight with the world's biggest smirk plastered across his face.

"How on earth did you get so fast kiddo?" He shakes his head at me, some of his dark hair falling in his eyes. "And Uri, you've been getting slow ever since initiation finished anyway, but that was just awful."

I giggle, rolling off Uriah and lying down next to him on the mat. It's no secret around Dauntless that if one Pedrad sibling is somewhere, the other two aren't far behind. The rumours aren't wrong, when I first moved here I followed Uri and Zeke everywhere, and they themselves outright refused to leave me by myself. Four years later at sixteen, I still have my two personal bodyguards and they still have their pesky sister tagalong.

Though I think I've just proved to Uri once again that I don't need him to protect me.

A few seconds later, Zeke is sitting at my feet. I notice the mischief in his eyes too late, and shriek as his fingers begin to tickle the soles of my feet. Screeching, I make to lunge away, but Uri is suddenly in on it and I'm suddenly the one pinned to the ground instead of him, writhing and screaming and laughing.

"Payback!" Shouts the younger brother, no lack of humour in his cry. My breaths escape as short panting shouts, my eyes streaming as I try to catch my breath but it's no use, I am laughing to hard.

"Zeke!" I plead, my feeting kicking and straining against his attack. My eyes meet his, silently begging while I scream with laughter. With a soft smile, he relents, and Uriah groans as he realises his payback has been cut short.

"You go too easy on her, man!"

It's not untrue, Zeke, as the oldest brother, has always made it his personal duty to be over protective of me, even if it means not being able to say no to me. It's useful, but I can't help but resent where his protectiveness stems from.

I gulp. Thinking about Zeke's protectiveness makes the differences in our appearences suddenly become all too clear – the stark contrast between their dark, tan skin and unruly brown hair and my pale, pasty skin and loose blonde curls. I hate that I don't look like them. They're my brothers, my family, much more so than the people I originally called 'family'. They've supported me and helped me recover in ways I hadn't thought possible until I arrived here at Dauntless.

Out of habit, I tug my long sleeves down a little further.

Zeke catches the movement, his eyes meeting mine. He's knows about my past, one of few – only Dauntless leaders and my family here know what happened. In the busy atmostphere of Dauntless, hardly anybody noticed when, four years ago, a terrified Abnegation twelve year old arrived and assumed a new family. I'm thankful for it. People accept me as a talented member of Dauntless, who received Dauntless in her aptitude test and who will soon choose Dauntless without a breath of hesitation at the choosing ceremony tomorrow.

Zeke's eyes hold only a silent question. _Are you okay?_ I nod discretely at him, all laughter drained from my system. Thankfully, Uriah, wheezing on the mat next to me has not been paying attention and goes to get up when a cold voice interrupts us all.

"Well isn't this cozy," A sneer, and I don't even need to turn my head to tell that it is Eric.

My brothers cannot stand up to Eric, they cannot talk to him the way I do. As full Dauntless members, any sign of disrespect from them could reflect badly on them, or their position at work. They wouldn't dare talk back to him. But, as someone who is yet to go through initiation, and possibly the only person in the compound who is not afraid of Eric, I turn around, a disparaging smile on my face.

"How nice to see you here, Eric," I bite. My brothers, behind me, start climbing to their feet.

Ignoring my remark, Eric saunters into the room, looking idly around as if he doesn't see this room every morning when he trains. Despite his supposedly careless actions, I know that every move of his is calculated, designed to give off only the the version of him he wants to be seen. Not one of his actions is without purpose. As he walks, his thick, leather boots making an unmissable _thud_ every time they hit the ground. The floor beneath us almost seems to shake.

His eyes are steel. There isn't a hint of emotion that Eric lets show to the point where I've come to wonder if he is actually feels emotion at all. As usual, his cropped hair is immaculate, combed back to the side of his face, showing off the tattoos that creep up his neck. If Uriah and Zeke are a lot bigger than me, I would hate to see myself standing next to Eric. He's huge, his muscles straining against his simple black t-shirt.

"Training for your initiation?" He smirks at me. I can feel Zeke bristle behind me.

"And what if I was?" I snap back.

Eric just raises an eyebrow.

"Then I'd ask to show me exactly what you call _training,"_ Eric mocks, his voice low and dangerous. My cheeks heat up and I take a step forward, closer to where Eric waits in his wide stance. His lip curls as I point my finger at him, resentment bubbling inside me for this man who, through his threatening actions, has become known throughout all of Dauntless as someone to be reckoned with.

"You wanna fight, Eric? I'll bring a fucking war."

His face shows no sign that he has even registered my comment, but I almost believe I can see his eyes darkening. I know I am pushing the limits here – challenging Eric to a fight is something I have never done, no matter how angry I've been. Logically, I know that I can never win against him. Despite being one of the fastest in Dauntless due to my slight build, Eric matches my speed in his strength and intelligence, not to mention that he's not exactly slow either. But in my anger, my logic doesn't register.

Behind me, I can feel Zeke tensing. I know that he's a strong fighter – he's been training with Four almost daily since his initiation finished. But if he stepped in, challenged Eric's authority, his neck would be on the line.

"Clara..." Uri warns. Eric's eyes never leave mine.

"Is that a challenge, Pedrad?"

His words wash over me with a sense of dread. I know that I can't back down now – the damage to my pride would be worse if I backed down from Eric more so than if I lost to him. And if I get a few good hits in...

Maybe I can finally prove to him that he's not the only force to be reckoned with.

I nod once, my brow pushing into a slight frown. I shouldn't have pushed it this far in the first place, shouldn't even be in this situation. _If only Eric would leave me alone._

Within heartbeats, Eric pulls his shirt over his head and strides over to the training mats. Shakily, I follow. My fists clench by my sides.

As I face Eric, out of the corner of my eye I can see Zeke take a step forward. I can only imagine what sort of dilemma he's in, but clearly his protective instincts won out. My heart swells for my brother, who because of my own stupid stubbornness is about to watch his sister get beaten to a pulp.

"That's enough," Zeke growls. I can hear the thunder in his voice, it's as much a warning to me as it is Eric. I take a second to glance at him.

Turning back to Eric, I try to hide my cringe at the sheer size of him, the threat radiating off him. I swallow, pushing down my strong desire to run, and never look back. Instead I focus on my other instincts – Eric is dangerous. Even if he doesn't currently pose a major threat, I want him away from my brothers. Maybe this will achieve that.

"Any day now, Pedrad," Eric drawls lazily.

I start at him immediately, using my speed to my advantage. A roaring starts in my ears, the same way it does with every fight. It's as if every sound is intensified to the point where I here the silence that surrounds us. Feigning to the right, I aim a strong kick to his groin, but he instantly picks up on it, deflecting with ease. Before I can even register moving away his hand is around my ankle, tugging me forward so that I stumble. Releasing a cry I use his foul play to my advantage, upper-cutting to his chin while I use a burst of power to jab forward with the foot that is trapped by his hand. It works, if only for a second, and I am free, taking a few steps back and breathing heavily before I launch my next attack.

His stance is too strong to sweep his feet from underneath him, but I need to get him onto the floor. _If only I could-_

I don't have time to think as Eric starts his offence. Instead, as he goes to knock me off my feet with his, I jump, barrelling into him when his balance is at its worst. We tumble to the floor in a mess of limbs and bodies, but Eric moves so swiftly that, before I can gain the upper hand, his body is pressed into mine, his forearm against my windpipe like I had Uriah earlier, my arms pinned above my head by his other hand. I snarl at him, rage seething in my chest.

"Next time, Pedrad, I think it would be more interesting if you took off your shirt too," He murmurs in my ear. It's clear from this fight – that was really over before it even started – that he only came here to torment me. He wanted this to happen, to prove to the one person in Dauntless who wasn't scared of him that she should be. I struggle against him, feeling his grip on my wrists and trying to -

 _Oh._

 _My wrists._

Panic flares inside me, waves of it flooding the fire that had previously been roaring. What if he feels – what if he _sees_ my scars?

Two of them, two thick ugly scars, one of each wrist. Four years old. Only my family and the leaders who were there at the time know. Eric can't know – _nobody_ can know the shame I live with, why I was kicked out of my former faction. I try to breathe deeply, I've lost, he'll move and let me live out my shame, he won't see. He _can't_ see.

The roaring has started again, the silence screaming at me to get out, get away, run. Nobody can know.

"Fuck you," I spit, jerking my knee from underneath him to hit him in the groin. He groans and rolls off me, and I'm immediately off the ground and sprinting past my brothers, who look as though they are ready to commit murder. I'm out the room in seconds, hands frantically pulling my long sleeves down further, further, as if they will eradicate what I did.

…

My bedroom isn't like most Dauntless rooms. While my brothers' rooms are simple and black, with minimal decoration or personalisation spare a few photos or posters, mine is full of as much colour as I can get. It's not the Dauntless way, it's certainly not the Abnegation way, but escaping from the darkness of the compound from time to time helps, I find. When my mind is at its darkest, I find being surrounded by colour often helps to clear my head.

But not now.

I pace, my footsteps thundering beside my bright blue bed sheets. I can't help but be shaken by what happened with Eric. My shame in being beaten is miniscule in comparison to the fear I felt when I realise he might have seen my scars – or even felt them, despite my long sleeves he could have still felt the thick, bumpy scars.

I sigh loudly, pushing through my bedroom door and into Zeke's. He hasn't returned home yet, neither him or Uri, but at the moment the quiet apartment is a bit of a comfort. I flop onto Zeke's bed, a safety net. I snuggle under the blankets, and within moments, my racing heart has calmed down and my head is starting to become clear again. Minutes later, I am asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! Thank you so much for your support on the last chapter, it's so encouraging! Small reminder to check out this story's Instagram page , the details are in my profile (I just wanna talk to you guys!)**

 **On a more serious note, this story is rated M and there is frequent and descriptive mentions of a suicide attempt in this chapter. Please be safe, and don't read this if you feel like it may upset you.**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

A bright light erupts through the room. I groan, squeezing my eyes shut and burrowing further under the blankets, but as I do, I find myself bumping into a solid figure. Who is now also groaning.

My eyes fly open and I rip the blankets off me – yet as soon as I do so I'm greeted by a sudden head rush from moving too fast. Before I can gather my surroundings, there's a sudden thud on the bed next to me and I find myself being pulled back down, trapped under someone's arm. I struggle a little, confused and startled, but stop when I hear a quiet whisper.

"It's choosing day."

Immediately, I can tell it's Uri. I must have slept in Zeke's bed all night, which would explain the figure next to me who is now stretching its long limbs.

I turn around in the bed to face my brother. His eyes are wide and concerned, dark circles under each. Did he get any sleep last night?

It occurs to me that I haven't spoken to my brothers at all about today. I haven't said one word about my aptitude test results to them, nor have I made any indication that I will be choosing Dauntless. They must have no clue about how today will go.

They must think I'm going to try and leave them again. Though this time, in a different way.

I smile at my brother. Still weary from sleep, my words come out as a half mumble.

"Don't worry, Uri. I'm not going anywhere."

On the other side of me, I can feel my eldest brother relax.

…

The choosing ceremony is busy as ever, people bustling about and trying to grab multiple seats so they can sit with their families. I can see so many parents with their concerned gazes, fretting about their children in some desperate attempt to make them stay at home. Others appear not to care – as if their children weren't about to make the biggest decision of their lives.

Part of me wonders if I'll see my old parents in the crowd today – though I don't know how I would react if I did. I don't want to see them.

Yet, my eyes still dig through the hoards of people, straining to catch a glimpse of those who hurt me so much. Do they still care? Did they ever?

From where I sit, I tug the sleeves of my shirt down a little further.

I shouldn't care about whether they're here or not. It's been four years without word from them, since they decided they didn't want me any more.

 _The ultimate selfish act. Suicide._

 _..._

 _I wake up in the hospital to the sound of a heart monitor beeping next to me. By the ice blue walls and clinical smell, I can tell I'm in the Erudite hospital – for intensive care._

 _I'm alive. Somebody must have found me – they must have taken me here. Was it mom? Dad? Did someone care enough to drive me to the hospital?_

 _It's night. Only a small sliver of light lands upon my bed from one of the lamps illuminating the street outside my window. The rest of the room is dark, cold. There's nothing warm about the Erudite hospital. The seats next to my bed are empty – in fact, it looks like they haven't been used once, from where they sit perfectly aligned with the wall. Even in death, there's nobody here for me._

 _Swallowing hard, I go to check my wrists, but as I move them a sharp pain courses up my arm and I let out a shout. Hissing, I clench my eyes shut and wait for the pain to subside. But even as the physical pain passes, I can feel a stab in my heart as I think about those empty chairs next to my bed._

 _Nobody is here for me. I'm alone._

 _I lie there with my eyes shut until I hear the door open. By the click of the heels on the ground, I already know it isn't my mother, and don't bother to open my eyes._

" _Clara Mckennick? I know you're awake. I heard you shout."_

 _The voice is hard, steel. There's nothing caring about the way this nurse speaks to me. I wonder how many suicide attempts she's seen in her day. I can't imagine it's lots. People are supposed to be happy in their faction._

 _I blink my eyes open and stare at her. Her immaculate hair is matched by her immaculate clothes – a knee length pencil skirt and a tucked in blouse, both in varying shades of blue. She's not young, the one or two grey hairs an indicator of her age. Despite that, there are no laugh lines on her skin._

" _We need to fill out some details about you."_

 _I close my eyes again and sigh. I'm too tired for this. I'm too tired for everything._

" _Can't my parents do it?"_

 _She lets out a_ tsk _noise before taking a step closer._

" _I assume your parents are the ones who dropped you off? They aren't here," She clips. "In fact, there hasn't been anyone here since you were admitted two days ago. It really is prudent that we receive your details."_

" _Additionally, I've been told to share some bad news with you." Only now do her eyes soften a little, something which would look a little like sympathy if she didn't immediately regain her steely composure. "Your faction, Abnegation, no longer accepts you as a member after what you attempted."_

 _A strangled gasp escapes me. Twelve years old and factionless. I bite my lip, hard, to stop the sob that is forcing its way up my throat from escaping me._

 _I guess that's what I get though, for attempting the ultimate selfish act._

…

A hand squeezes my own. My eyes rip open and I turn and stare at my brother, who can somehow always tell what's going on in my mind.

"Sweetheart, you're crying," Zeke whispers, brushing some tears off my face that I didn't even know fell. "They're not here, are they?"

My heart swells for my older brother, whose soft side only ever comes out for me. Around Dauntless his attitude changes completely: he's the hard, slightly intimidating man who will do anything to protect his siblings. My situation, of not being their sibling by blood, has made our bond stronger than I thought possible. We're inseparable.

"I don't want them here," I whisper quietly, leaning my head on his shoulder. To my other side, Uri turns around and sends me a soft smile.

I swallow and look towards the front, where a knife sits on the table in front of the fives bowls, one representing each faction.

"I'm going to have to cut myself with that knife, aren't I?" I breathe to my eldest brother. I don't bother to hide the fear in my voice: I have not used a knife for anything other than cooking since I was twelve. I haven't wanted to since. And now... I'm going to have to revisit that dark place to slit open my palms like I once did my wrists just to pledge allegiance to a faction.

"You'll be okay," Zeke murmurs, but it sounds more like he's reassuring himself than me. His hand squeezes mine tighter.

Decisively, I wipe my face completely, making sure there is no trace of my tears. I force my face into a neutral expression and remind myself that I am going to choose Dauntless, and become a full member there – with my real family. The ones who would never leave me like my old parents – my old faction – did.

The roar of voices dies down as soon as Jeanine Matthews enters the room. I can't say I often judge people on their appearance, but Jeanine is a special case. With her platinum blonde hair swept up into what could be an elegant, but is so tight it looks strict and scary bun, and her blue pant suit that looks like its been tailored just for her, she is the intimidating kind of woman that I don't ever want to meet. These days most people from Erudite give me a bad vibe – the harsh, unfeeling atmosphere of the hospital I was in and the way they looked at me – me, a suicide survivor – as if they resented my very being. As if I were a blip in their system.

She stands at the front with a cool confidence that radiates through the room. When she speaks, I am paralysed.

"Today, our youth make the greatest decision of their lives," She starts. Her authoritative voice cuts through the room like a knife, but there is no need. Everybody is already silent, still. "May they choose wisely."

Her eyes scan the room, and I swear I can feel them land on me.

"Faction before blood."

The choosing ceremony begins with the call of _'Arthur, Daniel'_ from Amity, who chooses Candor, and I watch as the apparently permanent smiles on his parents' faces falter slightly.

I try to zone out most of the ceremony, but my attention is drawn by one character, an Erudite. His cold eyes meet mine as he walks across the stage to the knife Jeanine holds in her hand. They don't leave mine as he cuts his hand and his blood drops onto the Dauntless coals.

A shiver runs down my spine, but I try to conceal my discomfort. I'm next, after all.

"Clara...Pedrad," Jeanine barks. I loose a sigh of relief as they use my new surname, instead of my old one. I want no association with my old name.

I stand on shaking legs, and cast one last look at my brothers before I make my way to the stage. I grasp the knife that is handed to me, and I grip it so tight my knuckles turn white. By now my whole body is shaking, it feels as if I am connected to a live wire, and electricity is ripping through me at the speed of light.

It takes every ounce of my self control to press the cool blade to the inside of my palm, and every ounce not to cry out at the pain that explodes in my hands as I drag the knife across my skin. For a moment, I stand, mesmerised by the trail of blood weeping from my cut, before I regain my thoughts and force my hand over the Dauntless coals. The resulting cheer is deafening.

It appears I've made a name, and a home, for myself in Dauntless.

…

It's not the falling that scares me. It's what waits at the bottom.

A whole crowd of Dauntless, who will now recognise me as first jumper – who will put insurmountable amounts of pressure on me to excel from this point forward. A reputation as first jumper always turns out one of two ways – either you do exceptionally well at Dauntless or jumping first is your one high point and it goes downhill from there.

But I'm determined to do well here. I must succeed – there's no other option. So when they ask us to jump, I am the first on the wall, and I am the first to take a step forward into the abyss.

I let out a shriek as I fall, but it's one of delight. I'm entirely weightless for the first time in my life, and there is nothing more exhilarating than dropping from the sky without one of my troubles on my mind.

It's over all too soon, and I hit the net hard, landing once, twice, three times before it stops bouncing. Before I can focus, strong, warm hands wrap around my shoulders and drag me out of my little cradle. I'm placed firmly on my feet and I look up to find Eric, looking down at me grumpily.

"Of course the Pedrad is the first jumper," He grumbles, looking entirely unscathed from our fight yesterday. I, on the other hand, have bruises on my back from where I hit the floor so hard, that now ache from the impact of the net.

"Worried I'll do better at initiation than you did?" I throw at him. His eyes flash dangerously, and it's suddenly a lot more noticeable how proud and tall he stands, his bulky muscles obvious under his uniform. I suddenly don't feel so brave under his piercing stare.

Instead of replying, he shoots me a dark look before turning to the crowd behind us and bellowing.

"First jumper!"

…

It turns out that there will not be separate dormitories for the initiates this year.

There are only three transfers, two from Candor and that Erudite boy who wouldn't stop staring at me throughout the choosing ceremony. Sharing a room with him seems like the least enticing thing in the world to me at the moment, though I suppose I am used to my own room, with a big double bed at home with Zeke and Uri. Internally I chide myself for being so spoilt.

As we make our beds in the dorm, I find myself sharing a bunk with the girl from Candor. Her dark brown hair shines as it swishes around her shoulders as she goes to put on her pillowcase. Her eyes are unusually kind for someone from Candor, and I can already see the beginning of laugh lines at the side of her eyes.

"So you were born here, huh?" Marina asks. Her voice has a sort of melodic ring to it, and I almost begin to wonder if she actually came from Amity, not Candor.

"Yeah," I reply, forcing myself to smile. Unusually, it doesn't come too difficultly. "Born and raised."

She breaks out into a grin.

"You're going to have to give Dean and I some extra pointers then, we're both rubbish fighters."

She inclines her head to the boy making his bed at the bunk next to ours. His head perks up at the sound of his name, and he gazes at us curiously. I find myself noticing that he looks only really at Marina, his eyes full of affection and fondness. A small pang of jealously rings through me, but I ignore it. I already have everything I need.

"That sounds good to me," I say, smiling properly this time.

Across the room, we get occasional glares from the boy from Erudite. I found out that his name is Mason Andrews, and that he jumped straight after me.

He creeps me out entirely, but with any luck, I won't have to speak to him much. I just have to focus on getting through initiation, maybe become actual friends with Marina and Dean. They seem like nice people.

It's looking hopeful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! Happy holidays from me and Clara and Eric! Enjoy the chapter!**

I'm up before everyone else.

All the other initiates – hailing either from Dauntless, Erudite or Candor are used to being able to sleep in, at least until school started. Growing up in Abnegation, my family was up at 5:30 every morning, bringing breakfast to the factionless. It must be the only part of Abnegation that I have held onto.

I go to the small drawer next to my bunk, which is packed full of training gear. I grimace at the sight of it – most of it is tank tops and tshirts, which are all entirely unwearable. I almost sag in relief as I see one long sleeved, black top at the bottom. All of the training gear is tighter than I would choose for myself – the skintight tops and leggings doing little more than granting me a second skin.

As I tug on my boots, I curse under my breath as a wisp of blonde curls falls into my face. I don't have any hairbands. I guess today I'll train with my hair out.

I slip out of the dormitory and into the dimly lit corridors of the rest of the compound. There is never much movement at this hour in the morning, though I know that Zeke occasionally has to pull early morning shifts in the control room, meaning that the compound isn't _totally_ dead in the morning. Still, as I pass through the pit, the only people visible are those passed out, a bottle still in their hand from late night partying.

The best benefit of being awake at this time is breakfast in the canteen. There is little better than the cook's freshly baked blueberry muffins, and if you get up later than seven you'll have missed them all already. A grin spreads onto my face as the corridors approaching the canteen smell with the mouth-watering aroma of baked goods.

…

I arrive at the training area sated and full. For me, this is nothing more than an average weekday morning – a good breakfast and a gruelling training session. Though if anything's for sure, it's that Eric's training sessions are likely to be tougher than my usual ones. Not to mention, it's an all day event.

I grimace slightly, but my mood this morning is still to drop. I can't tell if it's the muffins, or the fact that I'm on the road to becoming a full Dauntless member, but I relish this one moment of utter serenity. That is, until I enter the training room and realise I am half an hour early. And that Eric is too.

He turns upon my entry and his face is stone. As always, there is no emotion in Eric's face other than cool, calculating steel, though for a second, I swear his eyes darken almost imperceptibly. Recognition that nobody else receives from Eric other than me – and it fails to strike me what I have done in all these years to make him hate me so.

Maybe it's because I'm not scared of him.

Or so I tell myself, but as his eyes rake across my body in assessment, I feel utterly naked. Scared is not the right word, but it is not the furthest away either.

"You'll get too hot training in those long sleeves," He says. His voice is ice, his eyes bore into mine.

I mark his stance, the way he dresses. A thin, stretchable tshirt, no doubt made from some high-wicking material that prevents him from getting too hot. His heavy leather boots look almost impractical for training, but I know that they're the most durable kind around. I can tell already that he's been working out in here before our training starts, his hair a little less neat than usual and his breathing a little irregular. How early must he get up during initiate training to do his own personal training? The thought seems ridiculous.

"I don't care," I shoot back. His brow twitches, in amusement or anger I can't tell. He turns away suddenly, and I think for a second he's about to go back to his workout, but before he can my curiosity wins out.

"What time did you get up to train?" I can tell before the words have finished leaving my mouth that I have crossed a line again with Eric. Questions, no matter how impersonal, probably don't bode well with him.

"Early," He grunts, not looking my direction for a single second as he manoeuvres himself into a plank position on his knuckles, and begins to slowly do push ups. Entranced, I watch the muscles in his arms flex and tense.

I force myself to look away and find myself awkwardly starting around the room.

"What are we doing in training today?" I ask, and he lets out an irritated noise.

"Are you unable to sit silently for a few fucking minutes?" He rasps, pushing himself back into a standing position and glaring at me. Suddenly, the ground beneath my feet becomes all too interesting.

He lets out growl.

"If you're so desperate to know, Dauntless, why don't I show you?" He now wears a predatory smile. "You were so eager to demonstrate a few days ago."

"Oh fuck you," I mutter, turning on my heel to leave. There's no point in waiting here with Eric, especially if he won't teach me anything useful. But before I can take a step, a hand clamps down like a vice on my shoulder.

"Watch your mouth," Eric spits. His dark eyes are a cold front of anger that send a shiver down my spine and weaken my knees. I forget that this is Eric – ruthless, dangerous. I should really be more careful around him than I am, but somehow I can't control myself. Would he actually hurt me if I went too far? Have I already gone to far?

No – I shouldn't have to. I don't fear Eric. Trying to intimidate me and everyone else like that, that doesn't make him scary, it makes him an asshole.

"I need someone to demonstrate with me in training today." I frown up at him, forgetting how close together we stand as soon as I study his face. He may not have directly asked it, but I know the question is there. If Eric's training the initiate class this year because it's so small, then he'll need someone to fight to show the other initiates.

I breathe in deeply, considering, and the smell of sweat, metal and something distinctly masculine tingles my nose, it's not unpleasant, but it's _Eric_. I nod once and see his shoulders move fractionally, almost as if in relief. Internally, I'm leering. In his asking for help, I've beaten him this time.

He releases my shoulder roughly and takes a few strides into the space to my left. He stills, his back to me, a wide stance and hands clasped behind him.

"I won't hurt you," He says, and once again his voice is that of the cold, calculating Dauntless leader, who wants only to train his initiates as effectively as possible. "I'll make sure that I hit light."

"That's assuming you manage to land a hit," I reply, and I am almost surprised by the spite in my voice. My defeat by Eric a few days has only served to drive me further in improving my fighting, and in my resentment of Eric.

Eric snorts, turning to face me.

"I don't think that will be an issue, Dauntless."

…

It turns out that Eric's idea of hitting light isn't very light at all.

I let out an _ooft_ as his fist collides with my stomach. It may not end up bruising, but it hurts nonetheless. I twist away and feign a punch to his side. Of course, Eric is more than ready for it and blocks without hesitation, but it is then I decide to play dirty.

As my too-light punch lands on his strong block, I leap into the air and bring my elbow down to his neck. It works just as I wanted it to. Eric lets out a grunt and stumbles to the side a little. The sense of triumph doesn't last long – as soon as my feet slam down on the ground Eric has whirled, and seconds later I let out a shout as I find myself in a wrist lock.

"You've seen what fighting standards in Dauntless are like," Eric shouts at the group of initiates watching. I can hear his faint pants. "Go make yourselves useful."

A few seconds of mumbling later, the other initiates find their punchbags and you can hear the sound of skin hitting leather. Eric releases me and I groan, cradling my wrist. I face him, shooting him a death glare.

"Are you hurt?" Eric demands. I am surprised to hear a faint waver of worry in his voice. I guess he doesn't want to get in trouble for hurting his initiates.

"Fine, no thanks to you though," I bite back. My wrist still aches, and even though he promised not to hit too hard I can still feel the slight aching on my body from where he landed his punches.

The other initiates had been surprised to find that I would be demonstrating with Eric. The Dauntless borns however, had merely smirked, knowing my reputation for being a keen fighter, and being able to hold my own against many strong Dauntless men and women. The transfers, however, had shock written all over their faces. Dean and Marina had looked terrified for me, which, even now fills me with a warm feeling.

I try to ignore the memory of the disturbing grin I saw on Mason's face once I was put into that wrist lock by Eric.

Eric growls.

"Don't get hurt next time."

…

Training doesn't finish until after dinner.

I wipe the sweat off my brow. It's been a long day, and Eric's training isn't exactly a style that I'm used to. However, despite how much he annoys me, I must admit that he's got some useful techniques that I hadn't even begun to consider. It's not the standard stuff taught in training either – I got Zeke and Uri to teach me what they learned as soon as they did, and spent my time making new combinations to try to better my fighting ability. The tips Eric gave me today – although I resent receiving his help – as I practised on the bag were ones I'd never heard of. Did he learn them upon becoming a leader, or did he figure them out himself? Eric is certainly a strong fighter, if anything, I wouldn't put making up new techniques past him.

Trudging out of the training room, I almost groan when I hear my name being called out. I've been so looking forward to just collapsing in my bed after a warm shower, maybe visiting my brothers if I have enough time. Not to mention how loudly my stomach is growling.

"Hey Clara!"

It's one of the Dauntless borns. Though she knows my name, I feel a small kernel of guilt forming in my stomach as I realise I don't know hers. Having not spent my childhood here, I never got a chance to bond with the Dauntless borns as kids, and as a result never quite fitting into their close-knit friend groups. Though I guess that could also be put down to my lack of trying however – I didn't like to venture far away from my brothers when I first joined. I was either with them, at school or in the training room. Sure, the fact that nobody noticed my joining of Dauntless as a twelve year old was great, it meant that I didn't have to put up with unwanted questions, but I guess there was also a downside to it in the end.

"Oh hey..." I reply, trying my best to think of what her name might be. Purple hair, laugh lines already appearing next to her eyes, taller than the average female and a permanent grin on her face -

"Calla," She laughs, one hand on her hip. "No worries though, it's a bit of a weird name."

I force myself into a friendly chuckle. Right now I'm really just aching to go sleep -

"So it's Dauntless tradition," She starts, striding confidently towards me, "That all initiates play a game of truth or dare at the start of their training."

Coming to a halt just a foot away from me, her eyes dance with a sort of unashamed determination that, despite my weariness, makes me instantly like her.

"Oh... I don't know..." I begin, ready to make up an excuse about going to visit my brothers.

"Great!" She beams, "I'll see you at the tracks in ten minutes, okay?"

My eyes widen. But before I can respond, she runs off with a shout of _hey transfers!_

I groan, knowing my night of quiet peace just got a whole lot louder.

…

It turns out that Calla somehow managed to catch all of the initiates before they dispersed for the night. There's roughly twenty of us in total, Dauntless borns and transfers included. My head spins with all the new names I'm learning, and knowing I've already forgotten half of them I try to limit how much I talk to the same people.

Shivering, we stand by the tracks, waiting for the train. It seems like the most Dauntless thing to do – riding the train around the city, playing truth or dare and drinking. Now that I'm here, I can't say I'm desperate to leave. In fact, I can almost see how this might be fun. But it seems the transfers have a different idea of how the night will go.

"Isn't this dangerous?" Marina frets, both her hands clinging to Dean's arm as she shivers. "I mean, drinking and riding the train? That's bound to end in disaster."

Nobody pays her any heed except for Dean, who quietly tries to calm his girlfriend. I eye them cautiously. This is the impression they're willing to give to the Dauntless borns – to the people who are competing for their spaces at Dauntless. Nobody is guaranteed a place at the moment, and they're casually putting out the appearance that they are weak to their competition. I almost bite at them to tell them the position they're putting themselves in, but before I can, Calla arrives, dragging behind her one of the Dauntless born guys, who appears to be carrying all the alcohol. My eyes widen fractionally.

"Isn't that rather a lot?" Dean asks. Calla simply barks out a laugh.

"Lets get on with this shit, shall we?"

It's only a few seconds later that the rumbling of the oncoming train fills the air. Before anyone else can, I launch into my run along the platform. I'm not going to make the kind of weak impression that Marina and Dean are – no, I'm going to show them that _I_ am the one to be competing with.

The train whistles past me. Behind me, I hear the thundering of twenty pairs of footsteps.

I make a grab for the handle, pulling myself as gracefully as possible into the cart, landing on my two feet with little stumble. I move quickly out the way as Calla leaps on behind me. It's not long before all the other initiates fill the cart, but I grin to myself internally, knowing that I was the first to do so.

"Who's first then?!" Shouts one of the Dauntless borns. I think his name is Corin.

"Might as well be me then," Grins Calla, grabbing a bottle out of the hand of the boy next to her and taking an impressively large swig. "I choose dare."

A few rounds pass, along with multiple bottles of various alcohols. Tales are thrown back and forth of wild sex stories, break-ins into the kitchens to steal cake, and whatever other Dauntless-like activities people have gotten up to, more than I care to listen to. And as my name is called, I know I am drunk enough to do whatever is asked of me.

"I choose _dare_ ," I giggle, wiping some hair out of my face. I can hear the laughter of some of the others, who are all already drunk and in their own little conversations. But in the middle of the group, I hear a dark voice that hasn't spoken all evening.

"I dare you to scale the abandoned library."

It's Mason.

"Dude that's _whack_ ," Laughs Corin. "Can't you see how drunk she is?"

Mason finally steps forward out of the crowd, his hands balled into fists. Clearly, he's not as drunk as the rest of us.

"Is this Dauntless or what?" He demands. Corin simply offers his hands up in mock surrender. A few voices murmur around the cart.

"Sure thing," I grin, holding onto the side of the cart as I stumble to my feet. I haven't been this drunk or this happy in a long time, and I'm not about to let it go for some stupid dare. The old library shouldn't be that hard to climb anyway, it's got tons of grips and footholds and window ledges.

I take a swig from the bottle on the ground next to where I stand, cherishing the burn as it rushes down my throat.

"Lets do this!"

Within five minutes, we've jumped the train and are approaching the abandoned library. By this point, I'm so drunk that with every step I stumble, being caught by Dean each time, who walks beside me, a worried expression on his face. Not even the cold night air has sobered me up yet, and I'm loving it.

I jog the last few steps to the foot of the library. A wide grin plastered on my face I turn to the approaching crowd of initiates, most of whom are grinning, a select few watching with concern. There isn't a care in my mind and I know that I can probably scale this building and make it back in one piece. And who cares about falling? I probably won't anyway.

"Watch and learn, bitches," I slur, giggling slightly. I whirl back to face the building, ignoring the dizziness that fogs my mind.

I grab the first window ledge and hoist myself onto it, legs wobbling slightly, still grinning to myself. This would be a _great_ way to show the other initiates what a strong competitor I am.

I move to grab the pipe next to me, but stumble slightly. I hear a gasp from behind me.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" I shout against the wall between laughs, my hands now latched onto the pipe and I swing my legs round to grab it between my shoes. Doing my best to shimmy up the pipe, I can feel the cold air, and the height start to sober me up slightly. A few footholds later, I'm halfway up the building, high enough to get seriously injured if I were to fall. But I won't fall. I'll show them.

I grin and move to grab another ledge that sticks out of the building, but before I can, a roar echoes around the abandoned space. I frown, unable to discern the snarling words that I hear following it.

I try to look over my shoulder, but it's so dark that I can't make out any of the people at the bottom. Deciding that something might have happened, I move to lower myself, no longer feeling as drunk as I did. It's dead silent now – not a sound to be heard from the ground beneath me. Suddenly concerned for my new friends, I speed up my pace. Climbing has always been something I've enjoyed, and in my slightly more sober state, I don't find great difficulty in descending the building.

I drop the final few feet to the ground with an _oof,_ turning around to see where the noise came from.

But instead of meeting the crowd of initiates, I come face to face with an expression of pure, terrifying rage.

It's Eric.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! This fangirl just finished her exams and is hyped to be getting you a new chapter! I know the last chapter was a little bit of a cliffhanger so I hope you enjoy this chapter. Just a warning, it's a little dark, a little sad, so I'm putting a trigger warning on this chapter for alcoholism and alcohol abuse. Nevertheless, enjoy!**

 _It's Eric._

I'm immediately sober. All of the other initiates have long disappeared – not even some of my friends stuck around. Did Eric tell them to leave? He'll probably issue some form of cruel punishment in tomorrow's training.

With a gulp I meet his eyes. I'm faced with his usual cool exterior, but this time I can see his anger. In the dark, I can only just see the flame of rage that burns in his eyes, but it's there. His fists clench by his sides, and it looks almost as if he is shaking in anger. Eric is dark, threatening – and I'm not stupid enough to ignore the fact that I could be in danger right now. It's unmistakable when Eric is angry. Immediately I avert my gaze, too ashamed to hold his stare. Or maybe too scared.

I guess it's a bit of both.

Eric hasn't even put on a jacket, despite the chill of night that I can suddenly feel settling into my bones. The warm, giddy feeling of the alcohol in my system has gone and left me shivering. I tell myself that it's only from the cold.

I shuffle my feet slightly, my cheeks the only warm thing about me. I knew I shouldn't have done this, it was obvious that the night would end in disaster. Surely, the Dauntless leaders have dealt with so many initiate classes get drunk and play truth or dare on their first night that they're poised to break it up as soon as it starts. As a Dauntless born, Calla should have known better.

Wiping my suddenly sweaty palms down my hips, I force myself to pull my head up. It's within the spirit of Dauntless to stand up for yourself. To do dangerous stunts for some cheap thrills. I shouldn't be ashamed of being unafraid – I was brave enough to pull off a deadly dare and I _managed it._ Surely that should just show the leaders, Eric, that I'm Dauntless through and through.

I try to take a step towards him – towards the train tracks – but as soon as I lift my foot off the ground I stumble. Okay, so maybe I'm not as sober as I thought I was. That's something that I could actually get in trouble for.

"Are you drunk?" Eric questions. There is a certain sound of demand in his voice that makes me feel as if he already knows the answer, and is just asking to strike some fear into me.

I don't answer him and attempt to take another couple of steps. After one or two successful movements, suddenly I'm rushing through the air and just as I think I'm about to fall to the ground right in front of Eric – and prove him right – two warm hands wrap around my waist, a little rough and a little too tight. I let out a little hiss, slapping at the hands and trying to pick myself up.

"Let me _go,"_ I spit. It's humiliating to be seen in this state, and I don't want this to get back to Zeke and Uriah. They'd be so angry.

"You're drunk. I'm taking you home." Eric's voice is dark. I flinch slightly at the barely concealed anger that I can hear in it.

I push off him and make a break for the train tracks. Eric merely growls and stalks after me.

It takes too long a time to get home, and every second of it is more agonising than the last as I feel Eric's silent glare at me the whole time. Any sane person would be terrified right now – I certainly should be – but it's the soul-crushing dread I feel for when I get home that causes me to shake instead. I can only imagine how disappointed my brothers will be. I could never bring myself to knowingly hurt them. Tonight is like a punch in the gut for me, a forced reality check. I should have known that if I started drinking with the other initiates, I'd get out of hand. The shame bearing down on me is almost as bad as the concern for my brothers, who will no doubt find out eventually.

I've relapsed, and I don't know how I'd cope if my brothers found out.

I frown as I realise that Eric is not leading me to the initiate dormitory, but instead to where I lived with Uri and Zeke. Immediately I panic – I can't face them yet. Not while I'm not completely sober, there'll be too many questions that I can't answer, that I don't want to answer. I needed at least a night to gather my thoughts and find an explanation.

"No, Eric, you don't understand – I can't see my brothers right now," I plead with him, struggling against the vice-like grip he has on my wrist as he drags me through the compound. " _Please,"_

Eric just ignores me. By the time we're at the apartment, I'm shaking uncontrollably. He stands me right in front of it, facing him with my back to the door.

"You explain to me, right now, why you're so terrified to see your brothers, and maybe I won't make you."

His gaze is cold. The venom in his voice sends shivers down my spine.

"I- I can't," I break, my eyes stinging with tears that I refuse to let him see. For a second, he just stares, and I wonder if he's going to let me off easy this time. But then, he raises his arm and raps on the door three times before striding away, leaving me by myself to deal with my brothers.

The door creaks slightly as it swings open and I whirl round to see Uriah, clad only in a t-shirt and some pyjama trousers, his curly mob of hair tousled in an even bigger mess than usual. I can't meet his eyes, instead I look down at the ground, cradling my arms to myself in an attempt to stop the shaking.

"Clara?" Uriah questions. "Hey, what's up? Why aren't you in the dorm?"

The warmth, the caring in his voice is the final straw and I break. I rush at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in his t-shirt. I heave with sobs, my eyes streaming with tears and soaking his t-shirt through.

"Sweetheart," His voice cracks slightly. One of his hands comes down to stroke my hair. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head into his chest and only sob harder. As if he just realised we're still standing in front of the door, he lifts me up, so that my legs wrap around his hips and he carries me, like a koala, over to the couch. Setting me down carefully, he sits half-on half-off the couch, facing me completely. I sniffle a little as I try to regain my composure.

"Sweets...you smell like -" He cuts himself off immediately. I can almost hear the realisation in his voice. "Have you been drinking?"

When I don't answer him, he sighs. He pulls me into a tight hug, and I can feel his warm skin press against my own freezing touch.

"I though you gave up drinking," He murmurs. There is a resounding sadness in his voice that sends a pang of pain right through me. But the next voice that sounds through the room crushes me completely.

"I thought so too." It's cold, unnaturally so. I can't remember the last time I heard Zeke's voice sound like this.

I pull away from Uriah and look up to see my eldest brother standing in the doorway. With a cry, I make a start towards him, but he takes a step back, and I stop in my tracks.

"Eric came to the control room to tell me what happened," Zeke says. There isn't an ounce of emotion in his voice. "I ran here."

I collapse back down onto the couch and hide my face in my hands in a pathetic attempt to stop myself from crying again. It doesn't work.

"You haven't drank in years, Clara." The way he says my voice, as if he can barely even look at me, tells me all I need to know about how my brother is feeling right now. Disappointment doesn't even begin to cover it. My worst fears turned out to come true – my brothers will never forgive me for this.

It was a year after I moved to Dauntless that I went of the deep end again. Not suicide this time, thankfully, I don't believe that my body could have survived another attempt, but with drinking. Dauntless was so different, so scary that I felt like I needed some sort of relief. It was the first time I'd ever drank – with alcohol being a forbidden selfishness in Abnegation and not legally being allowed to drink anyway, it's needless to say that my first drink had me drunk within seconds. And when I stumbled home that night, thirteen years old, Zeke, only three years older, had needed to clean me up. He'd looked after me every time – and every time I promised him that I'd never touch a drink ever again. And like always, the next night I'd be hurling into the toilet and sobbing my eyes out. I can't even begin to imagine the pain that Zeke must feel right now.

It took me a long time to fit into Dauntless, and I guess those first years were so tough that I chose to get drunk every night rather than acknowledge what I had done to be kicked out of my home. Thankfully, I eventually found my way. Zeke and Uri started training me, and I chose learning how to fight and training myself to be the best possible over drowning my sorrows in alcohol. I hadn't touched alcohol until tonight. And of course, it got out of control.

"...I'm so sorry, Zeke," I breathe. Tears run down my face without stopping, and some of my hair sticks to my cheeks. I swallow, trying to find words to explain what happened to my brothers, but there's an unmovable lump in my throat preventing me from speaking. I just shake my head and look at the ground.

For a moment, there is nothing except a painful, torturous silence. It is broken only the clock on the mantelpiece chiming once – for one in the morning. Zeke's night shift wouldn't normally end for another couple of hours.

I jump as a warm hand wraps around mine, tugging me up from where I sit on the couch, and I stumble forward a bit.

"Come on," Uriah murmurs, leading me to my bedroom. I follow him, my feet dragging on the floor, my head hanging. It's as if I was thirteen again, as he sits me down on the bed and crouches before me, helping me take off my shoes as I am shaking too much to do so myself.

"Uri..." I start as he goes to leave, but he just offers me a sad smile. I knew this would end badly. I should have thought more about how my actions would affect my brothers.

I crawl into my bed as soon as Uriah leaves the room. Through the walls, I can hear Uriah shouting at Zeke and I only hold my pillow tighter as their voices only die down.

I don't sleep that night. All I can think about is how I have to make this up to my brothers.

…

I'm up at five the next morning. My head pounds with every strike I lay on the punchbag, but I don't let it stop me. I have to work through this – get through my anger at myself, escape, even momentarily, the unshakable feeling of guilt that twists in my gut whenever I think about my brothers. I have to show them that they can trust me. I don't want them to be angry at me. I don't ever want to hurt them again.

I punch the bag again, but this time I follow through with a kick. It's so strong I feel the impact rush through my muscles and it pushes me off balance. I fall, but at the same time, the bag releases one last creak before it splits open, sand spilling out onto the floor by my feet. I pant, cursing under my breath.

"You'll, have to pay for that, initiate." I don't need to turn around to know that it's Eric. After withering in exhaustion and self-loathing all night, the sudden rush of anger I feel towards him takes me off guard. I pick myself off the ground, slowly, and force myself onto my feet. I'm still slightly unsteady.

"What, you going to go tell my brothers this too?" I spit at him. He doesn't even look phased by my comment – it's as if he doesn't care. But I've always known he doesn't – why does his indifference feel just like another blow to me?

"Watch your mouth," He snaps. After everything – my brothers, my relapse, and now Eric's snide comments, it's too much. I explode.

"I _hate_ you," I seethe. I march right up to him, poking my finger into his chest. "You ruin _everything."_

It's only then that I see a slight flicker in his resolve. But immediately, it's replaced by anger.

"You think I wanted to deal with a couple of drunk initiates last night?" He scoffs. "I have more important things to do than to deal with some childish brats."

I take a step back, shaking my head in disgust.

"There's nothing childish about what happened last night," I hiss at him. He has no idea about what truly happened last night – he could never begin to imagine the consequences I have to face for one stupid mistake – one simple mistake that he hasn't ceased to punish me for.

"And what did happen last night? Why the fuck are you so angry with me?" He demands. I can hear the obvious anger in his voice, but that's not it. Masked by the shouting, it's almost as if he's hurt too. I'm directing all my anger that I have for myself at Eric, and I need to stop, because I know that if I push Eric too far he'll snap. And while I don't want to admit, he scares me a little.

My rage collapses in on itself, and all my emotions finally catch up with me.

"Nothing, Eric," I mutter in defeat. "Nothing happened."

He curses.

"I'm excusing myself from training today," I say quickly before he can demand that I tell him, my voice shamefully small. "I have a headache and need to recover."

In any other instance, I know Eric would forbid me from skipping training like this. He would rage and shout and force me to run laps of the compound for even considering the idea of not turning up. Before Eric showed up, I was all ready to force my way through today, and return to the dorm at the end of the day so exhausted that I would be able to fall asleep without thinking about anything. But now... it's not just physical exhaustion any more. And I know that Eric feels just as mentally exhausted as I do.

He doesn't say a word as I leave the training room, my workout long forgotten. Despite my anger at Eric, I somehow feel even worse now than I did before.

…

I spend most of the day wandering the compound, looking in various shops in the pit, and browsing tattoo designs. Despite the importance of physical fitness and practicality to me, looking through dresses and other clothes has always brought me joy. It might explain why I never really fitted into Abnegation – I take too much pride in my appearance to have accepted their way of life. I'm a strong believer that women can be both physically strong, but also have a pretty, traditionally feminine side. Honestly, trying on pretty pink dresses and twirling in the changing room is something I have taken to doing when I feel sad, besides working out. I allow myself to forget temporarily that I could never wear these dresses because of my scars, and pretend that I am a totally different person.

Today is no different. The gorgeous dresses, in all sorts of vibrant colours, not just black, momentarily take my mind off my brothers. I end up buying a pretty blue skirt, purely because it makes me feel good about myself. I don't know when I'll have the chance to wear it, but I feel like I need a little brightness to my day.

As I exit the shop, I stand opposite the tattoo parlour. There's been an idea swimming around my head for my first tattoo for a while, something symbolic. I know that getting it would make my brothers proud. They'd understand it. But today, after what happened last night, I don't feel is the best time to get inked. Instead, I decide to head back to the apartment. I have a plan to make everything up to my brothers.

I'm never letting something like this happen again.

…

It's around seven in the evening, and the apartment smells of cooking. I'm making our favourite dishes – all sorts of foods. I even stopped by the kitchens and got some chocolate cake, knowing that my brothers love it so much. My laptop is set up on the living room table, a bunch of horror movie DVDs sitting next to it. I know it's not perfect, but it's a start. I want to try to make up for the suffering my brothers suffered last night.

Zeke is the first to arrive.

He unlocks the door and enters the apartment, and when he sees me, a small frown forms on his face. I quickly brush myself down as I turn to face him, albeit nervously.

He looks me up and down, taking in my blonde curls which have been swept up into a slightly too messy bun, and my flour stained apron, before looking around the room. His expression is unreadable.

"What are you doing?" He asks, hesitant. His cropped hair is neat, the way he likes it to be for his work, and he's wearing his usual all black. The dark smudges under his eyes aren't prominent on his caramel skin, but I notice it. I've always noticed when something is wrong with Zeke. My feelings of hope suddenly feel childish and silly, and I wish I could just get rid of everything I've cooked and sink into the floor. Of course he doesn't want to talk to me right now.

I look down at the floor.

"I wanted to make it up to you two," I speak quietly.

My words hang in the air and for a long time, nobody moves. I'm about to turn and hide in my room before Zeke finally moves.

In a few strides he's across the room, and I'm enveloped in a spine-crushing hug. I breathe a sigh of relief, tears springing to my eyes and offer silent thanks to my brother, who despite everything, still is able to forgive me.

"I was so worried..." He whispers, and then, in an even quieter voice, "I love you, Clara."

I hug him tighter. My brother, through many struggles, my rock. I'm never letting anything come between us again.

 **Is it just me who felt some extreme feels for Zeke and Uriah this chapter? I can't get enough of them. Let me know what you think, lovelies! Until next chapter!**


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